Page 49 of Duke of Rath

“Did you know John, Duke?” asked Patience.

He’d told her not to ask questions, but she’d done so in front of her family, and now he was backed into the corner. The beast within him roared. He’d lash out, unable to control himself.

Damnation.

“Yes of course the duke knew him, Patience,” said Mr. Rose. “He and the Duke of Pryde. When John wrote me, he wrote about all his friends. I was quite proud he had made friends in such high society. Is it not why you offered to marry Patience, Your Grace? Because you knew John?”

Dorian felt his shoulders and jaw tighten. How on Earth would he get out of this?

“Mhm,” he mumbled.

“Were you as devastated as we were at the news of his death?” asked Mrs. Rose with tears in her eyes. “Goodness, of course you must have been. You were right there at that time, were you not? It was October, all courses and lectures in full swing.”

“I still don’t understand what could have made him kill himself,” said Mr. Rose mournfully, his own eyes teary.

Dorian was in hell. He felt as heavy as granite, hot and sweaty. His mind drifted back to the morning at Shotover Park.

The woods around Oxford were quiet in the dim light of the rising sun. Dorian’s breath pumped quickly in and out of his mouth, dissolving in the very fine rain that was like a heavy fog around him.

Black trees, shadows in the mist, were like cracks into a darker world. Only the cawing of hidden crows broke the silence. Cold water seeped through Dorian’s shoes from the soggy grass.

Pryde, with his indigo coat and a pristine white shirt, held out the box with two dueling pistols. “Here are the pistols, gentlemen.”

Dorian’s face flushed hot with rage. He glared at Mr. John Rose, his opponent, who stood in front of him by Pryde’s left shoulder. Fury was rolling through his body like waves of fire. He craved a war. Destruction. Enemies to obliterate. Anything to relieve the roaring energy that pulsed through his body like a chorus of battle drums.

“‘Gentleman’ is an extremely generous word for Mr. Rose,” Dorian said through gritted teeth.

“Dorian—” Lucien’s warning was tired.

Rose cocked one blond eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. Dorian could see the weak seams of his coat, the thinning, faded fabric. Perhaps it had belonged to John’s own papa; perhaps it had been given to him with love and blessings to go to Oxford University and make a life for himself, carefully mended by his mama as best as she could to make him look good among the sons of aristocrats and higher classes. Would they approve of their son’s behavior last night? Would they believe their darling was capable of harming a woman?

Clearly, the man’s manipulative charm worked on Pryde, who didn’t believe Dorian had seen the angelic Mr. Rose assaulting the barmaid at The Bear.

“Would you inspect the pistols, Luhst?” asked Pryde. “After you do, I’ll do the same, to ensure correctness and fairness. After that, we will load them.”

Rose likely did not own pistols, so Pryde must have offered his own for the duel. Gleaming in the early light of day, the pistols were exquisite. Lucien inspected both, looking into each barrel.

Dorian’s head was pounding, the same thoughts chasing through his mind since last night. His father was gone. He was gone. Blasted! He should be relieved. Finally, the despot, the man responsible for every bad thing in his life would no longer be able to hurt him or Chastity. But all he could feel was rage.

Lucien nodded and laid the pistols back in the case. A twig snapped twenty or so feet away from them, coming from the collection of bushes.

All four men’s heads jerked in the direction of the sound. In the gap between barren trees, Dorian thought he saw a flicker of white.

Lucien threw a worried glance at him. “Goddamn it,” he muttered. “No one can know about the duel.”

Pryde put the case with the pistols on the stump of a tree, and Lucien and he sprinted over the wet ground towards the bushes. Dorian took a few steps in that direction, but stopped, not wanting to leave Mr. Rose alone with the weapons.

A few minutes later, Lucien and Pryde returned, walking briskly. There was no one there.

Feeling relieved, Dorian turned back to Mr. Rose…

But he caught a movement. Mr. Rose had leaned over the case with the pistols and was just straightening up, a fleeting expression of being caught in the wrong written across his face.

“What did you do?” demanded Dorian.

Mr. Rose blinked furiously, stepping away. “Nothing, I assure you, sir.”

Dorian marched towards him. “You tampered with the pistols, didn’t you?”